


Meet Me in the Midst: The Beginning

by DontMindtheReticence



Series: Meet Me in the Midst [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Eventual Romance, F/M, Magic, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontMindtheReticence/pseuds/DontMindtheReticence
Summary: Ever since she could remember, Y/N has heard a voice in her head. Not simply her consciouness, but the voice of a young boy that could not be matched to any person she knew; rather, no one she had ever met for she knew him and she knew what to call him. Draco Malfoy. The boy that lived inside her head.His thoughts would appear to her in waves, irregular and random forces upon the beaches of her mind, but strong and clear, nonetheless. She could have easily given into the opinions of others and fallen into the belief that he was simply a figment of her imagination; she was a child after all. But, even then, she knew it to be more than that. What exactly, she'd never been able to figure out, but the connection she had to this boy was as real to her as herself.Years went by, maturation took its course, without any answers. No explanations, just thoughts and a name. Until the universe brought her answers conveyed on the pages of a raggedy, old book intriguingly titled, "Predestined Bridges: Symptoms of an Otherworldly Tie Between Soul Mates". And all at once, hope entered in like the sun from behind the clouds, shining upon the answers she had sought her whole life.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Reader
Series: Meet Me in the Midst [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015317
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	Meet Me in the Midst: The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, the reader and Draco Malfoy are bound together through the universe by a rare, ancient form of magic. Basically, it's a Soulmate AU. 
> 
> Couple of things I have to say real quick. 
> 
> I do not own the character, Draco Malfoy, nor any other Harry Potter related characters or elements that appear within this chapter as well as the following chapters. 
> 
> The story takes place when the reader and Draco are both 12 years old.

Meet Me in the Midst

**Chapter One**

It began on the day of her birth. The voice. Rather, _his_ voice.

Of course, it started off with cries and wails as infants will do until a certain level of maturity was met and words could be spoken. Truthfully, it had startled her in the night when that first word was emitted in the voice of a little boy _clear as day_ with no one around. Yet, as sudden and shocking as it was, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort at hearing his voice. It was familiar. New and yet old at the same time.

She was never able to quite figure out to which _he_ the voice belonged to as hard as she did try. And as time went on with her mind maturing, all that existed in the question of who this boy was to her was the longing desire to at last watch his lips form the words his voice would carry.

Wishful thinking.

Years of nothing but the occasional internal thought she knew did not belong to her gave her little hope of ever discovering an answer. In truth, she’d stopped asking for one a long time ago. Family and teachers alike proved to be useless in her quest.

From the time she could form sentences, she was labeled as “gifted” as she had the uncanny ability to tell complex stories derived simply from her imagination. The consistency of the tales brought somewhat of a shock to the adults that would humor her. They would gather around her to hear the words that flowed from her mouth, unfolding the events of the fable they believed to have occurred in her head. In truth, they were not far off. Still, they misunderstood.

Nevertheless, they were in awe at the uniqueness of skill that she brought with this talent, often telling her since she was learning to count of how unusual it was for a child of her age to be able to fixate so clearly on a well-developing story all on her own. Always in theme, recurring characters and locations, not to mention the intricacy in evolving her main character. A young boy, her same age, named Draco Malfoy.

It was an odd name for them to hear every time she got to share her memories of him. They would ask her from what media she had heard the name before, but her answer was never of any satisfaction to them as he simply existed in her mind. As years went by and the progression of his story continued, she’d grown quite the impressive list of questions she would regularly answer all pertaining to this boy who lived in her imagination.

No, she could not say what he looked like nor the physical characteristics of the people in his life, but she could describe his voice as well as her own. She could give sight to the way his emotions were sparked, fueled by certain key events that accompanied him as he grew up. Her dedication to telling this boy’s story was something of a marvel to the adults in her life. That never did stop the scrutiny though.

Adults. Always needing the air-tight, _logical_ answer. She found it absolutely maddening.

Y/N could only say “He lives in my head” so many times to such closed-minded individuals before realizing the fruitlessness in helping them understand. It didn’t matter much, after a while, for the stories were never for them. They were for her and him. At least, she would dream he was real.

Dreams. She had placed so much stock in dreams living alongside reality until a thought shared from Draco challenged everything she had believed to be real.

Little things about his family had always seemed odd underneath the obvious cynical nature of it all. The first time she had heard the terms mudblood, pureblood, and half-blood, she was greatly confused. She inquired about it with her parents and a couple of trusted teachers, but all they could relate the words to were pedigrees of canines. Though somewhat logical, it didn’t fit; she just didn’t know how.

Her questions began to weigh heavily on her mind the first time she heard Draco’s thought process through what sounded like a spell; something she had only ever read in books and seen in movies. Incantations in a foreign language began floating through his mind often, _very often_ , and it drove her mental. For the first time ever, she questioned her sanity.

Y/N couldn’t recall the number of times she was told that he was nothing more than a complex work of her imagination. Even though she could not explain his existence herself, she knew their explanations were far too simple. Draco wasn’t just an occasional voice that swam through her head, no, he was more than that. However lost she was to words that could explain how he felt to her, the feeling existed, nonetheless. She felt him and as little sense as it made, it was real and nothing they could say would make her question the truth in that. 

And she was right. Nothing _they_ could say would make her question her belief. It had been _his thoughts_ that had accomplished such a feat. Specifically, the seeming introduction of magic in the real world had forced the question.

All too soon, her life was thrown into a state of turmoil. She fought constantly between what her very core being could feel against what made sense to her mind and it tore her to shreds. To add salt to the wound, each new piece of information she would inevitably gather from his thoughts would split her apart further. It was pure agony.

Yet, she never ignored his voice, nor did she grow tired of it. For even in the midst of all the uncertainty, all the pain, and all the self-inflicted torture, his thoughts brought about that same comfort that had been there the first night he spoke. Even when his thoughts began drifting towards the same cynical nature he had been brought up with, she welcomed his presence. 

It was true that the words she started to hear from him were not always kind and could be described as simply unforgivable, she worked hard not to see it that way. In between all the lying, name-calling, and rude commentary, one thing always rang through.

His crying.

Nothing ordinary or whining (though that did also occur), but instead something truly solemn. Hurt. Cries that came from deep within a lonely soul that was simply trying to make his way through the world with what he had been given.

Everything he spewed onto others was taught and inflicted upon ever since she could remember and for _that_ , she would not hate him. Nor would she pity him. All she could really do or strive to do was work to understand him.

It was but the smallest amount of work required from her and she settled on it being enough. It would have to be. All she had was his voice. As much as she wanted to reach forth to hold him, touch him, confirm his existence, she could not. Listening was all she had. _Understanding_ was all she had.

Unbeknownst to her, all she needed to be granted her wish of discovering a proactive change in her perplexing internal world was patience. It had been mapped out. Destined to move. And move it did.

By the time she turned 10, the frequency of hearing his voice began to grow. What once was happenstance and sporadic was now a weekly occurrence. Still with its limits and without answers to the question of magic, but it was more than she had ever thought she could have.

Another year went by and suddenly, his voice came to her almost daily. It wasn’t too long after that unexpected change that she was able to feel a confirmation of the picture of his character she had been creating her whole life.

He was in her head, or maybe she was in his, enough now to know she had truly seen him. Felt him. It began to feel like she really knew him almost to the degree she knew herself. All of it came to pass so rapidly, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it all meant. What she was left with was a theory that they were moving towards…something.

A swell was occurring. Towards what she could not be sure, but the feeling was undeniable and yet so much was unrecognizable. Maybe, she worried, unknowable. Every bit of it grew her frustration as she sat without a clue.

That is, she _used_ to sit in the dark, devoid of all answers to her ever-growing questions. 11 years of existing in an enigma at a loss of hope and explanations until a single day offered a single blade of light.

Her 12th birthday was a matter of weeks away and she was perusing the freshly dusted shelves at her town’s library. Her constant efforts at figuring out her puzzle had created within her an inquisitive mind that longed for engagement in literature, so it was not unusual for Y/N to be there. It was the case, however, that on this day, she was there with a purposeful mission lodged well within her mind. 

Formulating a list of books she hoped to unwrap on her birthday.

A momentous goal to be sure. She walked the isles, pen and paper in hand, and read excerpts and summaries of books that happened to catch her eye; completely content with how she was choosing to exist. She had curated a reasonable list and was feeling quite accomplished when her eye got caught on the tattered binding of a book among the newly published.

The dark brown leather was undoubtedly old and obviously quite well-read. It looked to be something of an heirloom passed down through generations only to wind up on an ill-fitting shelf. Surely, it had to belong on something far more regal than an aluminum bookcase. As she neared it, she noticed the spine cover was empty of clues to indicate what story was being told within. It was also lacking in any call number or classification.

Puzzling.

At last, she was able to turn it over in her hands, flipping it open to discover its title, “ _Predestined Bridges: Symptoms of an Otherworldly Tie Between Soul Mates_ ”. Curiously written generations ago by a Hector Dagworth-Granger. She found the titling to be rather unusual. It sounded almost scientific, studious but it was all so fantastic. Then again, when had her life not existed in the realm of what had been deemed “unbelievable”.

Intrigued, she turned the page and began reading the opening meant to capture the reader’s attention. In the case of Y/N, it accomplished its goal and managed to steal away more than she had bargained for. Her very soul had been bound by its text:

_It is a rare thing when one soul can be matched in a worldly perfectness with another. And it is rarer still if those two souls should ever find each other. So many go through this life having found a partner in someone who fits well enough with their heart, never knowing the completeness of being with one who aligns exquisitely with themselves. However perfectly unfortunate it is, that is the way it has been and that it is the way it will continue to be._

_Unless…_

_Unless you happen to be a part of something beyond the world’s barriers, beyond trifling hands, and beyond any usual (or unusual) complications._

_A profound and irregular exception exists within the laws of our universe that allows not only for two souls to find a home in one another in absolute harmony but to begin building that home long before they will ever meet. An idyllic treasure that cannot be anticipated nor sought after for it finds you, chooses you. It is quite impossible to create this connection and just as unlikely to be disconnected._

_As far back as history may tell, these two souls are bound together by a force that will not be stopped from carrying out its duty. Its purpose, its sole reason for existing, is to intertwine the two lovers from birth onto the day they finally meet and further beyond that._

_Born together, die together. They truly become one and leave as one._

_How can it be told what fortunate beings are lucky enough to experience this magical connection? The answer is both simple and impeccably intricate._

_First, and foremost, there will be no doubt in your mind that you are bridged with one another through this magic as their voice will have lived in your head for as long as you have had one._

As soon as Y/N’s mind registered the words her eyes had just captured, she felt the beating of her heart stop abruptly as if the lights had been turned out with a simple flick of a switch. The feeling of the book on her fingertips was lost and her vision grew blurred and spotty. Then, almost as quickly as it had stopped, her heart lurched forward with the arrival of new light.

Blinding, enlightening beams of hope and answers drove her heart forward as her mind began to reel at the possibility that she had been right all along.

He existed. Truly existed not just in her imagination, not just in her stories, but in the world they lived in. Her eyes quickly looked back and found the set of keywords that began floating around in her mind, _“…bridged with one another…”_.

A bridge! Suddenly, every nerve within her sparked with a lively energy with the possibility that he had been hearing her voice as well. Curiosity ignited with resuscitated faith that pushed her limbs into motion, her legs carrying her to the librarian’s station with an inquiry at the forefront of her consciousness.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Wright?” Y/N’s question brought the familiar face out of her book to this new distraction.

“Well, good afternoon, Y/N, my dear! When did you sneak in? I hadn’t noticed you arrive.” Rang the wobbled voice of the Mrs. Gerdie Wright, a town relic bound rather kindly with piety and punctilious morality.

Y/N smiled back politely, trying desperately not to push past the expected show of manners in favor of immediate answers, “Good afternoon, I suppose I got in a half-hour ago, though I’m not entirely sure.”

Mrs. Wright smiled back with amusement as she responded, “A half-hour? My, my, and here I thought my attention to detail hadn’t yet begun deteriorating. Not like the rest of me.” Her last phrase spoken with a wink.

Y/N’s smile grew at Mrs. Wright’s self-commentary when the voice of another old soul called out from behind the shelf that had split apart the librarian station.

“That was the first thing to go out, Gerdie, followed quickly by your _memory_.”

Mrs. Mildred Hughes, ever the determined debater, stepped into view and smiled upon seeing Y/N, “Hello, my dear. I hope I am not too quick to say, ‘Happy birthday’.”

Wright finished rolling her eyes at the comment Hughes had made about her age when she gasped, remembering what time of year it was, “Oh! Of course, Y/N, it’s your birthday! I should’ve been expecting your arrival.”

Hughes sighed and tsked at Wright, “Do you see what I mean? The girl comes in every year with her little notebook and _every year_ it is a surprise to you. You’d forget your own head if it wasn’t attached to your neck.”

Y/N stepped in before Wright could form her rebuttal, “Really, it’s quite alright. I don’t expect my birthday to be on the list of your priorities.”

“No need to protect the old bird—” Hughes started before an immediate objection arose from Wright.

“Old?” She cried out, “We are but _two months_ apart and my birthday is after yours!”

“And yet it was you who forgot the poor girl’s birthday _again_.” Hughes responded, walking up next to Wright and towering over her.

“Oh, please, like your mind is in tip-top shape. You hadn’t noticed her come in either!”

Hughes scoffed, “I think that hardly equals up with you. Your desk actually faces the entrance!”

Y/N’s voice, once again, came in between their arguments, “Please, Mrs. Wright and Mrs. Hughes, could I bother you with a question for a moment?”

Both aged sets of eyes looked back at Y/N, their annoyance melting away at the sight. Mrs. Hughes leaned back into her chair and smiled, “Of course, my dear. What can we help you with?”

Y/N smiled, relieved she could get back on track. She held up the book in front of her and only now did either librarian notice it had been there the whole time.

“I was wondering if I could check out this book. There’s no call number or anything, but I found it rather intriguing.” Her voice wavered with the slight anxiety that came with hoping far beyond herself that she could take it home.

Mrs. Wright fixed her glasses and stretched out her hand, “Let me take a look at that for you.”

With the book now within her grasp, she turned it about and inspected the pages with a look of being perplexed. After a moment, Wright looked up at Hughes and asked, “Do you recognize it, Mildred?”

Hughes shook her head as she leaned over Wright’s shoulder, getting a closer look at it, “No, I can’t say that I do. It’s rather beat up, isn’t it?”

Wright looked back to Y/N, “May I ask where you found this?”

“Oh, it was on the shelf with the new arrivals.” Y/N answered as she pointed in the bookshelf’s general direction.

Her answer seemed to bring about more questions to Mrs. Wright’s mind as reflected in the way her brow creased and nose scrunched slightly. 

“Strange.” Wright spoke before asking Hughes, “Did you put it there?”

Hughes began shaking her head again, “No, I hadn’t. I dusted there this morning and didn’t notice it then either.”

“How odd.” Wright responded as she shook her head. In a moment, her face changed to reflect resolve just before she spoke, “Well, wherever it came from doesn’t matter, I suppose. It’s got to be thrown out anyway.”

Y/N’s heart sank deeply into her chest, lost under murky waters. Quickly, she forced out her question, “What? Why?”

The urgency in Y/N’s voice seemed to startle Mrs. Wright, but that didn’t deter her from reciting a rule of their institution, “Well, when a book is as tattered as this one, we throw them out to be properly recycled.”

Cold, rushing waves of fear crashed throughout Y/N’s body. She’d finally found something _real_ that could shed truth onto the state of her existence and now it was being thrown away.

“Please, Mrs. Wright…” She felt at a loss for words before an idea popped into mind, “Um, what if instead of tossing it into the bin to be recycled you…threw it into my hands to be…read?”

Silently, she cursed her “great revelation” at saving the book.

Mrs. Wright looked at her with confusion, “But, my dear, hardly any of these words can be made out.” She flipped through the pages for confirmation before continuing, “It looks as if the ink’s been damaged by water or something of the like. What could you want with something like this?”

Y/N’s fear was quelled suddenly with slight befuddlement. She leaned forward to take a closer look at the pages but found nothing to suggest any water damage. In fact, each word could be perfectly read.

She looked into their set of inquiring eyes and struggled to find an appropriate answer that didn’t make her sound insane, “Uh…well…I’m not quite sure, exactly. I just thought it looked cool and that perhaps not all of it is so…unreadable.”

Mrs. Wright continued to look at her with question but now with a smidge of judgment. Her curiosity into the young girl’s state of mind to want the dilapidated pages in her hand put her off. Not to mention the mystery of its arrival to her establishment in the first place. Things were not adding up and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of suspicion towards the circumstances.

Before she could come to any form of a decision, however, the always argumentative Mrs. Hughes spoke up, “Oh, just let her take it, Gerdie. What would be the harm?”

The long-time friends looked at one another, surveying the internal thoughts that reflected in their expressions. Hughes figured she knew exactly how to push things along.

With a smile and a wink of the eye, she whispered to Wright, “It could be her birthday present, you know.”

Her soft spot had been hit quite effectively. Hughes watched as Wright’s uncertainty was dissolved into a rush of joy and inspiration.

“That’s a splendid idea, Mildred!” She turned to Y/N as she continued, “Though I’m sure there are better gifts, you do seem to want it very much. I just wish I’d been able to wrap this for you.”

Y/N beamed with a smile as the book was finally put back into her grasp, “Oh, thank you so much! Really, I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

Mrs. Hughes cocked her head to the side slightly and responded quietly, “No, I suppose you can’t.”

Underneath her gaze, Y/N felt very much like a deer caught in a pair of seemingly knowing headlights to be saved only by Mrs. Wright’s sudden outburst.

“Why you would want it is _far beyond_ me, but I’m glad to see you with such a happy smile on your face.”

Y/N snapped away from Hughes stare and smiled back at Wright, “Thank you, again, both of you.” She shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the sudden air of tension she felt from Mrs. Hughes, before blurting out a quick escape, “I best be getting back home. I wouldn’t want my parents to worry.”

“Of course, dear.” Mrs. Wright called out as Y/N began backing away, waving a bit before turning around to start towards the exit.

“Don’t stay away for too long!” Mrs. Wright shouted out just as Y/N went through the threshold.

Just before she shut the door, Y/N yelled back, “I won’t!” and was finally off.

As her feet walked upon the pavement of her small hometown, she wanted to feel the excitement and the promise of fulfillment with the book in her hands, but she was left with weariness. Mrs. Hughes’ reaction to the book had felt innocent in the beginning until the question of who could read it and who could not entered Y/N’s mind. It was almost as if Hughes had been lying and realized in the moment Y/N inspected the book within Wright’s hands that the words were not muddled to her.

What was already so mystifying grew to rattle her further. The question could not be shaken.

Could Mrs. Hughes read the words upon these pages after all?

If so, why would she lie? Y/N supposed it could very much well be for the same reason she had lied. Saying that you could read what others looked at as ink smudges would bring about the question of your state of sanity. Then again, what if it wasn’t as simple as that? What if Hughes’ reaction implied something of a more nefarious nature?

With that suspicion in mind, Y/N began to feel much too paranoid. The interaction was certainly odd, but it didn’t make sense to jump to accusations. Besides, she hated getting so stuck on such a small question when the answers she’d been after for almost 12 years lay at her fingertips.

Realigning her priorities, she picked up her pace towards the house now only a couple of blocks away.

When she did finally arrive, she noticed the absence of her parent’s vehicle, but it did not come as a surprise. Though she led the librarians to believe they would be home, most likely waiting for her, Y/N knew they wouldn’t be back till late. Running the only restaurant that served truly edible food in their town meant early mornings and late nights.

Normally, Y/N could be found there, helping out where she could, but her parents had been gracious enough to give her the day to spend at the library. She made a mental note to thank them when they got back as she ran through the yard and into their home. Quickly and eagerly, she ran up the stairs to her bedroom and flopped down onto the comfort of her bed.

The book rested in front of her, unopened, for a few passing minutes. She was eager, yes, but she was also awestruck by its existence. At that moment, she was also accompanied by a slightly paralyzing fear. She’d only read the first page and while it spoke right to her, the worry that none of it would actually help plagued her. What if what she had could not be explained? What if this book really was a work of fiction not to be trusted? Or worse, what if the information she read on its pages took away what was left of her rationality?

Questions of the like rampaged through her mind until just one put them all into a fit of silence.

_What if everything you need to know is in there?_

Without another second to spare, her fingers flipped open the tattered cover and found where she had left off.

_And the second, I have found, is that at least one in this pairing will be directly involved in the realm of magic. True, indisputable magic_ _._

And there it was. Another string of words struck like lightning at the center of her heart. Her whole world of tangled threads and missing pieces was being addressed with understanding and a frankness she _so badly_ wanted to trust.

Excitement bubbled within her as she continued to read the last remaining paragraphs in the preface of this book.

_Regardless of what realm you, the reader, currently call your home, you must know beyond a shadow of a doubt that many things of this world cannot be so easily explained. While our beliefs can be easily placed or easily defended, there are times when words cannot do us justice and it is in that place that we rely on faith._

_Faith that this linkage of souls is real, it is strong, and, finally, it is misunderstood. Hence, why these pages exist._

_I have spent the better part of my life studying the bridge that so rarely occurs between people and can say that I was lucky enough to cross it myself. In the years spent venturing towards answers, I have come across very few minds who have heard tales of this rare corner of magic. Though the number of people who can claim such knowledge exists within their minds is minuscule, their spreading of unreliable information on our topic is far too big of a risk to let go unchallenged._

_Therefore, everything I have learned, everything I have experienced has been traced upon the fibers of this book so that you, an anomaly of the universe, may know what journey you have embarked on. May this information find you and bring about peace amongst the chaos_ _._

Y/N stared at the empty block of space under the last sentence written. Tears welled in her eyes and she found her breathing to be ragged. For the first time in the years, she had spent walking this Earth, she felt understood. Seen. Known. And for a few moments, she let that weight lift from her shoulders, and she reveled in the newfound lightness upon her soul.

When she was at last able to compose herself, she wiped away the tears from her cheeks and flipped the page. Her eyes settled upon a well-organized, deeply intriguing table of contents.

_Chapter 1—The Amplifying_

_Chapter 2—Building a Harmony_

_Chapter 3—A Scope to the Present_

_Chapter 4—Engaging the Senses_

_Chapter 5—In-Between Worlds_

_Chapter 6—Crossing the Bridge_

She wanted to let her mind try to decipher the clues in the vague titling of each chapter, but she stopped herself. Nearly 12 years had gone by without a single answer. _12 years_. She was not going to spend one more second apart from the truth that had finally come to rest in her hands.

Expeditiously, she turned the page and landed her fingers at the start of the first chapter. Her eyes scanned each sentence, taking in the information as it was craftily written, and her thoughts engaged heavily with them. She was enjoying the adventure immensely until her mind came to register a piece of the puzzle that had, once again, stopped her heart.

Y/N lifted her eyes from the page and felt every inch of her skin become numb. Her chest began to rise and fall incredibly as she struggled to come to terms with what she had just read. She shook her head slowly and found her hand move to cover the gape of her mouth.

As the author had so skillfully written, Y/N would find that in a matter of weeks, _everything_ was going to change, and the manner of that change was almost too much to bear.


End file.
